The Force of Justice
by Louise Foxhall
Summary: Based on an RP; what if there were a group of men, of rebels, daring enough to betray their King by saving the wife he condemned to the scaffold? John Wright and his family did not believe that Anne Boleyn should be put to death...Please R/R :D
1. Prologue

_A/N: This is - or hopefully will be - a multi-chap fic based around an RP on my forum, "The Court of King Henry VIII" and the man mentioned in this chapter is not mine, but belongs to Ambulare in Lux. _

_Please enjoy and leave a review with comments and/or constructive criticsm as they are always nice and useful! _

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**THE FORCE OF JUSTICE**

**Prologue **

In the light of the early morning, Anne was but a shadow against the glass of the cells only window, her once beautiful face lined with sorrow and fatigue as blank eyes stared unseeing at the grey sky. Though the sun was barely risen, already the sounds of hammers and coarse voices floated up from Tower Green below as the workmen reworked the scaffold that the King had commissioned for her use, the scaffold upon which her brother and closest friends had already died - heads severed from their bodies as she had watched from this very place. They were sanding it down now, smoothing the wood and sweeping away the sawdust ready for the laying down of the straw later. They would be finished within hours and she would die this time tomorrow, condemned to see but one more sunrise. This was a release to her in some way, this infernal waiting would be at an end, she would never have to return to this freezing cell – in fact, she would be freer than she had ever been in her life; free from the shackles of the court, free from the marriage that never was and finally free to fly, to be who she pleased.

Yes, Anne Boleyn was content to die now, assured of the reward that awaited her on the other side; death was a friend to her.

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Unannounced footsteps echoed on the uneven stone flagons of the corridor but the guards did not arrive to stop the man shrouded in the black wool cloak as he progressed for they both lay slumped against the wall, having been silenced effectively by this intruder within moments. They did not miss their keys either, which now hung at his belt.

Whom he was come for, there was no doubt. This section of the Tower was all but deserted save for the occupants of one cell, which housed Queen – no – the_ Lady_ Anne and her attendants. The sound of his scuffed boots stopped suddenly, for he had come to the final door, behind which was the lady he sought. Raising a hand, he rapped once on the heavy wood to announce his presence before fitting the correct key smoothly into the lock. When he pulled open the door, there she was, sitting in the window, dressed in yesterday's gown and wrapped in thick, expensive furs to keep out the damp and the chill that seeped through the stone. Her hair was loose and obscuring her face, her hood, cut in the fashionable French style, discarded on the bed with the need for propriety all but gone.

The man coughed, drawing her attention away from the window and toward him for the first time. Confusion registered on her features for a second as she looked at him, mostly hidden by the hood that he had pulled over his face for she did not recognise him. Silently, he raised a finger to his lips as a clear signal for her to remain silent before beckoning her with a crook of his finger. Affronted, she gave him a swift glare, unused to being treated thus but did as he had indicated her long, black gown rustling as she walked, bare feet, tinged blue with cold, making little noise.

"Who are you?" she breathed, coming close enough to look under his hood, getting a glimpse of dark curls and intense green eyes.

"I am your saviour," he gave an impish grin, quickly glancing behind her to check that they were unobserved; all of Anne's ladies could be seen, sleeping on cots set up on the far side of the room and so he continued, voice just as hushed as before: "I might not be Christ himself, but I am come to rescue you from here…" there was a stirring from one of the maids and anxiety fluttered momentarily across the man's face. "Come now, Your Majesty, if you are to escape with your life, you must come now." He extended to her a calloused hand and, heart beating fast, she slipped her own within it and allowed her to pull her from her prison.


	2. Chapter 1

**THE FORCE OF JUSTICE**

**Chapter One**

"Where are you taking me?" The sun was at its peak in the sky, so Anne judged it to be around noon. If that were true they had been riding many hours, her in pillion behind him, swathed in a cloak identical to his, unfamiliar and ill-fitting boots upon her feet, and still he had spoken no more. The man did not turn around nor did he reply but the bay mare slowed to a walk beneath them and then came to a leisurely stop a few seconds later.

"I think we are safe to stop here awhile," he said, jumping lithely from the saddle and glancing quickly round. This area of dense woodland appeared to her just as deserted as the many others she had seen in the hours since dawn. "If Your Majesty would allow me…" his hands hovered near her waist and she nodded her consent, allowing him to lift her down and set her unsteadily down on the hard ground.

"You didn't answer me," she told him as he stepped back and began to search the saddle bags for something. "I don't know anything about you. For all I know, you could be the headsman, sent to kill me quickly and quietly in private." The man let out a dry chuckle.

"Patience, Majesty." He pulled two rosy red apples from the bag and, polishing one on the fabric of his cloak, he placed the other in her hand. "Now," he leant easily back against his horses side, "Let's try again." He pulled the hood from atop his head and shook out his dark curls; he was a handsome enough man with a pleasant face and wide green eyes and the beginnings of a beard on his chin. "I am John Wright, Your Majesty and I am honoured to place myself at your service." She regarded him suspiciously, pinching her nails into the skin of the fruit in her hand.

"And what is your cause?"

"I work for my Father and my Uncle. They heard of your arrest and imprisonment and trial and believe that whether or not you are guilty of those crimes of which you are accused that you should not be put to death. They believe – as I do – that you have done much good for this country and thus, when I was instructed to rescue you, I did not hesitate." His voice was low and rhythmic as he spoke. "I am taking you to them now, not to the block." He chuckled again and shook his head, turning away and feeding his own apple to the horse.

Anne sighed. "And where might they be?" she scratched along the shiny red skin of the apple in her hand absently.

"My village lies another few hours ride from here, towards the West. It is just behind the Welsh border. You will be safe there." There was silence for a moment, with the only sounds being the sound of the horse's teeth crunching the fruit until: "I'd eat if I were you. That's all I have. There'll be a dinner tonight but 'til then…" John shrugged, "It's up to you, though I would think we should move on again soon."

"Very well," Anne tossed her hair back from her face and sank her teeth into the apple, feeling the juices dribble down her chin as she did so. It was sweet and fresh and she found she had missed this simple taste. "I am content to continue." John hastened to bow.

"Your Majesty." He placed his hands once more on her narrow hips and lifted her up, settling her in the cracked leather seat of the saddle before swinging easily up to sit in front of her, fitting his feet in the stirrups and taking the reins in one swift movement, kicking his heels into the mare's sides to spur her on. He rode with his hood down now and Anne, positioned behind him, could see the wind ruffling his curly hair as they went. She too longed to take down the hood that bound her own hair so that she too could feel the winds fingers combing through it but thought better of it, lest they be seen.

"It's been so long since I was in any condition to ride," she mused, mostly to herself, relishing in the rhythmic beat of the horses hooves on the ground and the strength of its stride.

"Then I have no need to tell you of the ache you'll feel in the morning." John replied with the bite of a smile in his voice. Anne laughed shortly.

"No," she said, "But if a bath could be arranged for me when we arrive it would be much welcomed."

"I'll make sure it is seen to when we reach the village," he assured.

"And I shall require a lady to wait on me."

"I will see what can be done."

"And…my sister – Mary – she must be brought to me at once."

"I'll dispatch an escort to Hever when we -"

"You must take care!" Anne interrupted impatiently, "She cannot be followed; Henry mustn't find me…but…what if she is already dead…? Oh dear Lord!" Despite the rivalry that had always existed between them, she knew that she truly needed her sister with her now; she could not bear to have lost both siblings in such a short space of time.

"Calm, Your Majesty; all of the necessary precautions will be taken. I shall dispatch an escort to fetch her and her family to you as soon as it is possible for me to do so. They will not be pursued, I shall guarantee it. For now, it is out of your hands as to how things turn out but have faith, I have saved you and I intend to keep to you safe. Just rest, we still have a while to ride yet." John's voice was calm and confident and soothed some of the anxiety that the thoughts of her sister had brought about.

Anne sighed but quickly the noise of disparagement was turned to a yawn; John was right, she needed to rest, she had slept but little the past few nights and it was beginning to show. She nestled her face in the dip between John's shoulder blades and wrapped her arms tighter about his middle, trying to find a comfortable position to at least rest. She was not used to riding thus, she liked to have her own horse, to ride and hunt at her own speed with the horse in tune with her movements, not those of another. In fact, she had only ever ridden out like this with two men, with Thomas Wyatt, her darling Thomas who had been spared the carnage, with whom she had spent many a summer afternoon riding in the Kentish woods, hair loose, favours free and with Henry himself, during their courtship, face to shoulder, laughter ringing in harmony from the trees. But all that was gone now. This man was neither Thomas nor Henry – she existed somewhere new now, somewhere where she couldn't be sure of her future from one second to the next and it was these thoughts that haunted her as she finally slept, her cheek turned to John's shoulder, the shadows of these men drifting in and out of her dreams.


End file.
